


We Three Kings

by thankyouturtle



Series: Two Steps Forward [4]
Category: Chalet School - Brent-Dyer
Genre: Christmas, Female Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thankyouturtle/pseuds/thankyouturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ruey returns to the Chalet School to teach - but she herself has some learning to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Myrrh

_   
Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume  
Breathes a life of gathering gloom;  
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,  
Sealed in the stone cold tomb.   
_

Ruey had jumped at the chance to be the one to open up Freudesheim; it was, after all, still home to her in many ways, and she hadn't seen it since Uncle Jack and Auntie Jo had packed everything up and left for Canada. It was also nice to leave the school for a while; all those mistresses rushing around and trying to find jobs for her to do, and she couldn't say no to any of them, not when she was the youngest and the newest member of staff. And most of them still looked at her as though she was a schoolgirl, not someone who'd spent the last few years working very hard towards getting her qualifications to become a PT mistress!

So when Miss Annersley had asked her if she'd like to be the welcoming committee Ruey had only been too happy to say yes. Besides, there was something almost illicit about creeping through the rooms when no one else was there. She even tiptoed into Uncle Jack's study, a place which for the most part was forbidden to the rest of the family. But the thrill of having the pension all to herself wore off very quickly; there was something very cold and lonely about the big empty building, and Ruey recalled herself to the fact she was supposed to be opening up the East Wing for its newest occupant.

She hadn't seen Joan for some time - and only once since she had left school. In her second year at university, Len had got it into her head that she needed to learn to be "a good hostess" before her marriage, and had ended up inviting a large party of girl-friends to her small London flat, where her triplet sisters had somehow produced many of the European "sweet" that they remembered from their schooldays. Len's London friends had exclaimed over the delicacies, while the Chalet School's Old Girls had reminisced about the creamy coffee they had sometimes been treated to.

Joan Slingsby - once Joan Baker - had arrived with Ros Lilley, looking pale and washed out and rather unlike her old self; even her hair was no longer permed, but had been bobbed and left to grow straight. Ruey had exchanged pleasantries with her, but there had been such a crowd there it was difficult to really talk to anyone, and the older girl had left early without even touching any of the food. It wasn't until much later, when the party had been winding down, that Ros had whispered to her that Joan's husband had been in a car crash two weeks before and had yet to open his eyes. Ros had conscientiously brought her along to try and take her mind off things, but how could you take your mind off something like that? Ruey still remembered the long days she had spent wondering if her father was still alive, if he'd ever come back; she'd thrown herself into lacrosse and schoolwork, but it had always been there in the back of her mind. At that was for a man who she'd known was not even particularly bothered about his children. To be so close to losing someone who you actually cared about, and who actually cared about you - Ruey could only imagine what that must have felt like.

She hadn't known Joan that well at school, actually, despite them being in some of the same classes. Ruey had always been in the thick of things, while Joan had only been on the outside edges. It wasn't that Joan had been a loner, exactly, and nor was she unfriendly; it was more that she had just never tried hard enough to fit in. Still, they had been classmates, and Ruey was more than a little pleased that there would be at least one other member of staff who knew her as something other than a former pupil.

The sound of a motor in the drive woke Ruey up to the fact that she hadn't finished making up the beds, nor drawn the curtains: she did so, hastily, and rushed outside to where a young, sad-looking woman stood holding a baby, while Mrs Graves, who had generously offered to collect her from the station, took her trunk out of the boot. "Joan!" Ruey cried warmly. "How lovely to see you again - and this must be Rosie, is it?" To her surprise she felt quite nervous; she hid it, by taking Joan's nightcase from the backseat of the car and asking how the trip had gone.

"Quite OK, thanks," Joan replied, and smiled a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Perhaps she was nervous too; but there was something else as well. Worried lines cut into her pretty face, and there was an air of sadness about her which made her seem much older than she really was. She was still grieving, Ruey realised, although she was probably doing her best to keep on for her daughter's sake.

"Can I leave you two to it?" Mrs Graves asked cheerfully. "The kids are being watched by Celia Everett, and I hate to think what horrendous trouble she's letting them get up to. You're lucky Rosie's only a baby, Joan - not nearly as much trouble!"

Joan's smile was a little more natural this time. "She was grabbing hold of everything on the train," she said. "If it wasn't my necklace it was the hair of the lady in front of us - she wasn't very happy about it."

"I imagine not!" Mrs Graves replied. "Well, once you're settled in you must come over for tea - Jo would have had you if she were here, but as she's not I'll make it my neighbourly duty! Tchüss!"

"Auf wiedersehen," Joan and Ruey chorused, and then glanced at each other.

"Well," Ruey said after a moment. "I'll show you where everything is, and then you'll probably want to have a rest, I suppose. Miss Annersely said to tell you that Abendessen would be at 18 o'clock tonight if you wanted to join; otherwise, Karen will send over some food for you."

"Thank you," Joan replied automatically, "that's very kind of her."

They made small talk as Ruey showed her around her apartments. There was enough room for a small nursery for Rosie, and Ruey had brought over some of Claire Maynards old toys to make the place look more home-like. The East Wing had a small kitchen, too, for those meals that Joan wouldn't be taking with the rest of the staff. Having shown her that much, Ruey wondered what else there was to say: then, fortuitously, she remembered the letter she had received from Auntie Jo, and dug it out of her pocket. "Here," she said, then remembering that Joan's arms were full of baby, she lay it down on the kitchen table instead. "Aunt Joey sent it - it's a welcome letter." Ruey had read it, actually, feeling a brief pang of homesickness as she read her guardian's words - _Joan, I hope you will make Freudesheim your home for as long as you need it. Freudesheim is meant to be a 'Happy Home' for whoever is living there._

She glanced at Joan, again, feeling awkward and not really sure why, and excused herself. "I ought to get back to school - everyone's still busy getting everything ready, you know, and I should probably be pulling my weight, being the new girl and all..."

"Of course," Joan said, "I expect I'll see you at the school quite a bit, anyway." Ruey left, feeling somewhat relieved, and returned to find that Miss Burnett - no, Peggy - wanted her to check over the school's lacrosse sticks to see if any of the needed mending.

It was actually some time before she got to talk to Joan again - properly talk to her. Once the term started Ruey was frequently busy during and after school hours helping Peggy look over the girls to see who would make up the sports teams this term; and Joan never stayed on into the evenings, preferring to take Rosie back to her own bed when she was done for the day. They'd occasionally see each other in the staffroom, and exchange pleasantries, but there was still that feeling of awkwardness between them, as thought neither of them was quite sure what to say.

Then, one afternoon, Ruey came into the staffroom to find Peggy groaning loudly over a timetable, and asked what was wrong. "Everything!" Peggy replied melodramatically. "No matter which way I work things I can't fit in any hockey coaching for the Fourths. And neither can you, before you say anything! The older girls know you were our lax star while you were here and won't be happy if I take you away from them. I did think that with another Games mistress here we wouldn't have these kinds of problems any more, but as capable as you are you can't be in two places at once."

Ruey flushed at the praise, but already her mind was ticking over. "I know someone who might help," she said. "If she can spare the time, that is. I suspect she's pretty busy-"

"Who?"

"Joan," Ruey replied. Peggy looked thoughtful.

"I thought tennis was her game?"

"In summer, but she was a decent hockey player too - wouldn't even try lacrosse, in fact, she liked it so much," Ruey's tone of voice suggested she still suspected there was something not quite right with anyone who wouldn't play her own favourite sport. "Of course, we'd need to find someone to watch Rosie, if she's agreeable."

"But me, I will watch la petite." Ruey and Peggy turned to see Mademoiselle de Lachenais smiling at them. "I have looked after her before when Joan was needing some time alone to speak with Rosalie and Hilda, and she is most placid. I would be happy to help, as long as it doesn't interfere with my own classes."

"Thank you, Jeanne," Peggy replied fervently. "We'll make sure it doesn't interfere, of course - now all we have to do is ask Joan! You'd best do it, Ruey, since it was your idea."

Ruey wasn't sure that it was a good idea at all, but seeing no help for it she approached Joan as soon as she could. She was sitting at her desk in the office she shared with Miss Dene, paper piled high as usual, while Rosie gurgled happily in her small cot. She was scowling when she looked up, although the expression quickly disappeared.

"Sorry, Ruey," she said with a sigh. "I thought you were another Middle being sent to see the Head - there's been three today so far, and every single one of them has stopped in here on the way to check and see if she's in - hoping she isn't I suppose! How I'm supposed to get any work done with them constantly interrupting me is anyone's guess."

That didn't sound like a good start; but then, that was the longest speech Ruey had heard Joan give since her arrival. "Miss Burnett wants to know if - oh bother! I mean Peggy, of course." Ruey clicked her tongue in exasperation, and Joan nodded.

"Annoying, isn't it? I meant to walk down to the staffroom yesterday and somehow my feet automatically directed themselves to the Senior Common Room. I've just managed to stop calling Rosalie 'Miss Dene', but as for the Abbess-"

"Oh, I know! I don't think I'll ever work up the nerve to call her Hilda, as most of the others do." The two girls grinned at each other, each suddenly aware of a certain kinship between them. Taking the opportunity, Ruey explained to Joan about hockey practice, and her eyes lit up for a moment - and then she shook her head.

"I can't. I mean, I'd like to, but I've got Rosie to consider."

"Mademoiselle said she'd take care of her," Ruey said hopefully. Joan turned and glanced at her daughter, and then smiled - a real smile, this time.

"In that case, I'd be happy to. I really miss Games, you know. It's lovely of Mademoiselle to offer to help. Everyone here has been so generous, letting me keep her with me while I'm working."

"Well, of course," Ruey said, surprised. "I mean - it's the Chalet School. Everyone's always so understanding."

"Yes, I suppose so," Joan said, after a moment. "Was that everything? Only, I've got rather a lot to get through before Abendessen."

Ruey left, wondering if she'd said something to upset Joan somehow. But for the first time that evening, Joan didn't leave immediately after the evening meal, but put Rosie down to sleep in the small, unused office next to the staffroom and joined in the evening gossip. "I wanted to find out what those kids have been up to that got them all sent to the Abbess," she explained to Ruey; but she stayed again the next night, and the one after that, and Ruey soon found that between their mutual love of Games, and their fellow feeling at being the most junior members of staff, they had more than enough in common to start building a friendship on. She even convinced Joan to have another go at lacrosse, and amused her saying that Rosie would have exactly the right build to play in a good fourteen-and-a-bit year's time.

It was funny, Ruey thought, that they had never been friends in school. Still, Joan had clearly changed a lot since then; marriage, motherhood, and losing her husband would do that to someone, Ruey supposed. They were friends now, and that was all that mattered.


	2. Frankincense

_   
Frankincense to offer have I;  
Incense owns a Deity nigh;  
Prayer and praising, voices raising,  
Worshipping God on high.   
_

When Ruey returned from her half-term trip the first thing she did was to seek out Joan and present her with the chocolates she had bought for her. "Don't say no," she said quickly. "I've been having a lovely time with Peggy and the girls while you've been here slogging away."

"It wasn't that bad," Joan objected. "It was nice, actually, not being interrupted every ten minutes by someone wanting something, but not wanting to bother Rosalie since she's 'just so busy!' And Con Maynard was here for a flying visit, so I wasn't lacking in company."

"Con was?" Ruey repeated, surprised. "What on Earth was she here for?" Joan grinned.

"Can't say, I'm afraid - the Abbess wants to see you, though."

"Already?" Ruey cast her mind back over the holiday - if you could call it that - but she couldn't remember a single incident that was worth a reprimand from the Head. They hadn't lost anyone, no one had broken anything... and then she realised that if that was the problem, she'd undoubtedly have wanted to see Peggy as well. "I suppose you're not going to tell me what this is all about," she said, and Joan's grin grew even wider.

"I've been sworn to secrecy," she returned blithely. "She's free at the moment, though, if you want to see her." Ruey pulled a face at her friend, but pulled her dress straight and knocked on the connecting door. The Head invited her in with a smile, and Ruey sat down, not without some feeling of trepidation. Miss Annersley inquired politely after her break, and Ruey did the same; and then, to Ruey's surprise, she was asked what she thought was going to be done about the Christmas play this year.

"Gosh!" Ruey exclaimed. "I hadn't thought about it, really. I suppose Aunt Joey wouldn't have had time to write one this year - has she?"

"She has not," Miss Annersley informed her. "However, one of our other Old Girls has stepped into the breach and written something that will, I think, be gratefully received by all."

"Con! It was Con, wasn't it? Joan said she'd been here last week."

"It was indeed Con." Miss Annersely sounded amused at Ruey's exuberance. "I have the script here with me, as a matter of fact.. Would you like to take a look?" Ruey eagerly agreed, and barely remembering to say her thank-you, started running her eyes over the type-written sheets.

The play was called _We Three Kings_, and was certainly quite different from anything Con's mother had produced. It began with three young men traveling on a train on Christmas Eve to an unnamed destination. The train was full of passengers, many of them families struggling to keep their children from acting out from boredom. Finally, the young men offered each to tell the children a story, which was gladly accepted by the tired parents.

The scene changed to Victorian England, and the first man told the story of the "Gift of the Magi". The second story was Hans Christian Andersen's familiar "Little Match Girl". Finally, the third man told quite a different story, in which various trees were arguing which of them would be best suited to join the Holly Bush and the Ivy as symbols of Christmas. The Pine Tree shyly put herself forward, and was much ridiculed by the others, who said that its leaves were too prickly and bark too sticky for anyone to love her. However, an angel, overhearing the argument, called to his friends to help the Pine Tree, and together they dressed her in such finery that the other trees stopped their bickering and agreed that the Pine Tree was by far the most majestic of all of them.

The train's journey finished, and its occupants left. The last scene was, as always, the Nativity Scene. There were angels, animals and shepherds in attendance, and familiar figures from the previous scenes arrived - first "The Little Match Girl", who shyly presented her empty box of matches, all that she had to give; then "Jim" and "Della" gave away their new comb and watch chain; finally, the three young men entered, and, revealed to be the Three Wise Men themselves, each laid their own gifts at the Christ Child's feet. To Ruey's surprise, she found she was blinking back tears when she finished reading.

"So what do you think?" Miss Annersely asked, kindly pretending not to see Ruey brush the back of her hand against her eyes.

"It's lovely," Ruey replied, feeling more than a little awe-struck. She had known Con was still planning to become an author, of course; but for her to produce something this wonderful, on her very first effort, really showed how much potential her friend had as a writer.

"And who do you think is going to produce it this year?" Ruey's eyes widened. Miss Ferrars, who had produced the plays while she was at school, had left to go to the new branch of the school in England; and she couldn't see that any of the other staff would do nearly as well. But Miss Annersley was looking at her rather pointedly, and it slowly dawned on Ruey exactly why she had been called into the Head's office.

"You want me to produce the play?" she asked, and if her voice squeaked a little when she spoke it was perfectly understandable. To produce a Christmas play when she knew exactly how high a standard the parents and locals expected - not to mentioned the girls themselves! - was no small thing. "I couldn't," she said, "I don't know the girls well enough to choose their parts! And anyway," she added with some relief, "there's no way I could oversee the musical side of things - Con hasn't included any carols with the script, and I wouldn't know where to begin choosing the right ones."

"Fortunately we have already overcome both of those problems," Miss Annersley replied, her lips curling into a smile at Ruey's responding grimace. "Miss Derwent and myself have chosen most of the parts - although you will, of course, have the last word if you disagree with any of our decisions - and Tristram Denny will of course be your musical director, so anything in that department will be left up to him." She leant forward, and rather more gently, said, "We're not trying to railroad you into this, Ruey. I think - and my senior staff members agree - that you will do an excellent job. As Games practices will be cut short for some of the Christmas rehearsals anyway, you won't be depriving the girls of their lessons. Still, if you are not going to be comfortable-"

"Oh, no!" Ruey exclaimed, "I would like to do it - I really would. Only, I don't want to get it wrong." She stopped, belatedly realising she'd interrupted the Abbess, but her employer didn't seem to have taken any offence.

"The girls won't let you get it wrong - the Christmas play means too much to them; and besides, they admire you too much to let you fail." Ruey wasn't sure what to say to that.

She left Miss Annersley clutching a cast list, a script, and one of the headmistress's pens which she only realised she had picked up some time later. Joan was silently sniggering at her.

"I suppose this was somehow your idea," Ruey said sourly. "If you think I'm going to let you get away with it you've got another thing coming! You'll be overseeing lines before you know it."

"It wasn't my idea at all!" Joan protested. "And I can't help you, Rue, not at the moment. Rosie's teething, and until they're through my nights aren't going to be very peaceful. I don't much fancy doing any work that I don't have to until it's over - oh, she's with Matey at the moment," seeing that Ruey was looking around for the baby. "Sleeping, of course, after last night! I wish someone had warned me how much fun teething was going to be."

"It could be worse," Ruey said teasingly, "You could have quads, like Josette." Joan gasped.

"Josette Russell, you mean? No, Ruey, I can't believe you!"

"It's true!" Ruey protested. "Three girls and a boy - Sybil Mary, Sarah Margaret, Angela Louise, James Richard," she half-chanted the names. "Auntie Jo was ever so bucked when she heard. She'd always wanted quads, you know, and she said since Josette was her god-daughter it was only right that she should have them instead."

Joan boggled a moment longer, and then returned to the original subject. "At any rate, until those teeth are through I won't be much use to you. Matey thinks it won't be too much longer, and if you still want me after that, I'll be happy to help."

She was as good as her word, and Ruey found Joan an enormous help - particularly with supervising the Thirds, who stood rather in awe of Joan from their hockey-coaching - but mostly just as someone who would sit and listen when Ruey needed to rant and rave about how badly everything was going, and offer blunt but practical suggestions when she was allowed to get in a word edgeways.

"It's funny," Joan said one evening, "but when I left school the one thing I missed the most was the Christmas plays. If you'd heard my thoughts just on having to say Prayers when I first got here, you wouldn't have believed it! But performing the play was the one time I really felt close to God - until I met Gareth, anyway."

Ruey had spent all afternoon wrestling with Althea Glenyon and her inability to play the haughty Holly Bush, and, exhausted, the two girls had elected to take their Abendessen in Ruey's room, with the understanding that they'd clear away their plates and cutlery themselves. Even from here they could hear Plato ruthlessly running the choir through "Good Christians, all rejoice" for the fifth time since dinner; and Rosie was happily taking apart a rather ugly doll in a corner of the bedroom. Now, Ruey looked at Joan with interest. This was the first time she'd heard her mention her husband since she'd arrived in Switzerland.

"I know what you mean about Prayers," Ruey told her. "It took me a while to get used to the way everyone was so reverant here. But - what did you mean about Gareth? If you don't mind me asking, I mean."

Joan was silent for a long moment. "I don't know," she finally said. "He just - was everything to me."

Ruey wasn't entirely satisfied with that answer, yet she could hardly press her friend. She changed the subject, instead, to say that she'd had a letter from Francie Wilford, who had written to say she was coming to see We Three Kings, and stay for Christmas with Ruey's cousins, if they'd have her. Again, Joan didn't reply straight away, and when she did all she said was, "It'll be nice to see Francie again."

"There'll be quite a crowd of us," Ruey added with a smile. "Con will be coming, of course, and I guess Len and Margot won't want to miss it if they possibly can; and Ted Grantley sent me a postcard saying she was hoping to be around. It'll be just like old times."

"Yes," Joan replied, and Ruey couldn't help but hear the strain in her voice. She was unhappy about something, that much was plain. But for the life of her Ruey couldn't see what.


	3. Gold

_ Born a king on Bethlehem's plain,  
Gold I bring to crown Him again,  
King forever, ceasing never  
Over us all to reign _

The dress rehearsal was simply terrible, and Ruey felt about ready to tear her hair out when it was done.

"Don't worry, darling," Sixth Former Jane Carew reassured her. "Bad dress rehearsal, good show, you know."

Perhaps Ruey should have told her off for cheek, but Jane was very much in earnest, - and besides, she was sure to bring the house down as the Match Girl, so the elder girl restrained herself to saying, "I certainly hope you're right, Jane. I'll be very disappointed if it isn't a good show." Jane looked thoughtful, and disappeared; while Ruey went to hunt out Joan. She was nowhere to be found, however, and Ruey's brow furrowed. Her friend had been acting awfully odd these last few days, and Ruey had no idea what had caused it, or what she should do about it.

"It's a pity Len's not coming after all," she said to herself as she made for the Staff Room. "She'd be able to tell me what I should do about it. Bother Joan! I could really have done with her help at the rehearsal." Then, as she swung the door open, she gasped. "Francie!" she exclaimed. "What in the world are you doing here! And Ted, too," she added belatedly. Ted Grantley laughed.

"Don't I feel welcomed! Oh, don't be an ass, Ruey, of course I'm not offended. Francie and you were always as thick as thieves, I should hope you'd be pleased to see her."

"I hope you don't mind us waiting here for you," Francie added. "Miss Bertram said we should," with a glance at that redoubtable lady, "but it does feel weird - like I'm waiting to find out what trouble I'm in this time!"

Ruey hugged them both, and told them to sit, asking how they'd made the journey. "It wasn't bad," Francie replied. "Ros almost lost herself in Paris, but that's quite another story-"

"Ros Lilley did?" Ruey interrupted. "I didn't know she was coming."

"Len gave her her ticket when she found she was too busy to make it," Ted explained. "We didn't leave her in Paris, by the way; she went off with Joan Baker as soon as we arrived, wanting to see how her god-daughter'd grown." Neither of them seemed particularly interested in either Joan or her daughter, and something about their manner sent a jolt through Ruey. Had she forgotten something? What was it, niggling at her brain? She couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Ted asked her how she was enjoying teaching, and soon all three of them were discussing their current jobs and plans for the future. Francie had spent two years at the Chalet School's finishing branch, so had begun late at university: now she was studying English with the hope of becoming a teacher. Ted was also still at university, working hard towards a Masters degree in chemistry. "I'm a little jealous," Ruey admitted. "I miss not having any responsibilities! But it's nice being treated as an adult, too."

"No, I don't mind putting it off responsibility for a while longer," Francie laughed. "Now then, aren't you going to tell us about this play of yours?"

"Con's the one that ought to tell you - where is she, anyway? I thought you were all travelling together."

"Had an attack of nerves and was seized upon by Matey," Ted informed her with a grin. "It must be ghastly seeing your own play performed, I think!"

"Then you'll just have to wait and see," Ruey said firmly, then, to her relief, since Francie looked like she was going to tease her formore information, Con herself entered, along with Ros and Joan, and Rosie, of course. Ruey heard Rosalind Yolland murmuring to Ruth Derwent that she hoped they weren't going to be descended on by every Old Girl there ever was; she snorted in reply, but took the hint, and invited her friends up to her bedroom where they could gossip without irritating any of the others.

Once there - the old school rule of no talking in the corridors proved too much ingrained for any of them to disobey it, even now - Francie and Ted began badgering Con to let them know what she had written, and Ruey took the opportunity to touch Joan's arm and ask, gently, "I say, is everything alright?" Joan nodded.

"Fine, I think," she said quietly. "But - could I have a talk with you a little later, when the others have gone?"

"Of course," Ruey said, startled.

"You are stubborn, Con!" Francie cried, clearly having had no success at extracting any details from her.

"So I've been told," Con replied calmly. "But you only have to wait until tomorrow to see it, Francie! And now I'm not going to say any more on the subject." She turned to Joan and smiled. "Joan, I don't suppose there's any chance of me coming over to Freudesheim, is there? There's some things I want to collect from my old room."

"Of course," Joan said. "It's your home really, after all."

"But it's your home too," Con told her firmly, "and probably more yours than mine, at the moment." It was Joan's turn to look startled; then, suddenly, she looked enormously pleased.

"Come over whenever you like, then," she said, "but if you'll wait until the day after tomorrow I'll have you all over for afternoon tea: Ruey and I should be able to be spared then."

"That sounds miraculous," Con proclaimed, a sentiment that was belatedly echoed by Ted and Francie, while Ros said that that sounded lovely, but did everyone realise how late it was? Francie let out a yelp that woke up Rosie, who was not happy about it; and the four visitors quickly said good-bye and beat a hasty retreat, since they didn't want to miss their dinners.

Ruey waited while Joan calmed her daughter, and when Rosie had finally drifted off to sleep asked what it was that she wanted to say. Joan sighed.

"It's not exactly easy to say - I've never been one for confidences, you know, except to Ros, but you're the one I really need to say this to. I know I've been stand-offish for the last week or so, but I just sort of - needed some space." She paused, and absent-mindedly adjusted the precious bundle in her arms, then took a deep breath.

"I didn't really want to come back and work here, you know," she said to the surprised Ruey. "But I didn't have much choice. My other option was living at home with Mum and Dad and Pam, and working such long hours that I'd hardly get to see Rosie. She's all I've got left of Gareth, and he was -" she shook her head. "I was always on the outside at school, you know that. I tried to fit in, but I wasn't like Ros Lilley. The other girls wouldn't accept me, no matter how hard I tried. Then, when I went to college, it was just the opposite problem. Everyone thought I was so stuck-up 'cos I'd been to a fancy private school. Only then I met Gareth, and he didn't mind that I was - was six of one and half a dozen of the other, as it were. He really loved me, and he didn't want me to be anyone except for myself. That was the first time I'd ever really felt loved." She glanced at Ruey, nervously.

"We never really have you a chance, at school," Ruey said slowly. "I mean, we were all friendly to you, but we weren't friends, were we? No wonder you didn't want to come back." And Francie, and Ted, still weren't going to give her a chance, she realised, remembering their earlier dismissal of her.

Joan, unaware of Ruey's thoughts, continued. "It was my fault too - I was awful when I first came here, but I don't think anyone ever really forgave me for it, except Ros. That smarted too, since there were plenty of others who'd done awful things and no one held a grudge against them. But then, when the school heard about what had happened to Gareth, they offered me a hand, and I couldn't not take it, not when I had Rosie to consider. And then you were treating me just like I was - well - any of your friends, and it sort of seemed like it made up for being alone at school for so long."

"And then when I said the others were coming, you thought I was going to leave you to yourself again," Ruey said, the reason behind Joan's recent skittishness finally dawning on her. "I - oh Joan, I'm so sorry! I wish I could go back and be friends with you. I wish I had been before now: you're a frightfully decent friend, you know!"

Joan smiled sadly. "You can't undo the past, Rue; I know that too well. But we are friends now - at least, I hope we are. Ros told me I was a fool of and idiot not to tell you all this sooner, but I wanted to forget it - only, I couldn't."

"Of course we're friends," Ruey said fiercely. "Good friends, too! There's no way I could have got through this term without you, and I certainly won't be able to get through the play tomorrow unless you're there - you will be, won't you?"

Joan's smile grew wider. "Of course I'll be there," she said, sounding genuinely happy. "You couldn't keep me away if you tried!"

The Christmas Play went off without a hitch, of course. The music was beautiful, under Joan's watchful eye none of the Middles took it upon themselves to make mischief backstage, and the acting girls played their roles with an earnestness that had been missing at all their previous rehearsals. Ruey gathered, from overhearing their chatter, that Jane had had words with them after yesterday's disaster, and she mentally thanked her for it. There was no clapping allowed, as the play was held as a fund-raiser for poor families in the Austrian Tyrol, but once it was through more than one person congratulated Ruey on its success, and when she saw Con her friend was about three-people deep in congratulations on her first play.

The next morning was a blur of chasing after missing hockey sticks, but shortly after lunch Con, Francie, Ros and Ted turned up, saying they had come to collect her on their way to Joan's. Francie didn't seem enormously keen to be going: over the Christmas break Ruey would have to tell her everything Joan had told herself, and maybe then the two of them would be able to make friends, too. Perhaps Francie would come teach at the Chalet School, and the three of them could make up a triumvirate: like the three kings themselves, even.

As they approached the gate to Freudesheim, Ted spun around with a wicked grin on her face. "You lot don't think it's too early for carol singers, do you?"

"Not too early at all!" Con cried. "Look - it's starting to snow." It was indeed, tiny white snowflakes falling softly from the grey sky.

"Shall it be 'Dashing through the snow', then?" Francie asked, but Ros' sweet voice rang out with a different song altogether.  
_  
We three kings of Orient are  
Bearing gifts we traverse afar.  
Field and fountain, moor and mountain,  
Following yonder star_

As they approached the pension, a door flew open and there Joan stood, Rosie in her arms, silently listening.

_ O star of wonder, star of night,  
Star with royal beauty bright,  
Westward leading, still proceeding,  
Guide us to thy perfect Light _

"I certainly wasn't expecting carollers," she laughed as they finished. "Come in! Con, I'm sure you know your way in: can you show the rest? I just wanted to have a word with Ruey." They trooped in, Francie casting a curious look at Ruey as she did so. Joan looked worried.

"About what I said the other day-" she began, but Ruey stopped her.

"I'm glad you said it."

They both fell silent, looking at each other uncertainly, until a voice from inside called, "What are you two milling about for? You're letting all the cold air in!" Then the uncertainty changed to smiles, and Joan turned and went inside. Ruey stayed out a moment longer, looking around the familiar garden, now sprinkled with snow.

_ Alleluia, alleluia!  
Sounds through the earth and skies. _

She went inside, into the warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all too tempting to write about friendship and forgiveness at Christmas time, and since I'd badly been wanting to write a story where Joan finally gets to be a sympathetic character it just about seemed right. Sadly, I lost the final part of the story in a computer crash, but hopefully the version I wrote to replace it does just a good a job as the original.


End file.
